


You want it, you need it, the devil's gonna feed it

by loveinadoorway



Category: Mötley Crüe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-12
Updated: 2012-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinadoorway/pseuds/loveinadoorway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title: You want it, you need it, the devil's gonna feed it<br/>Pairing/Characters: Nikki Sixx, OFC<br/>Genre: RPF<br/>Rating: PG<br/>Word count: 777<br/>Warnings: none<br/>Disclaimers: Do I wish I owned a slice of… ? Hell to the yes. Title taken from Mötley Crüe’s Saints of Los Angeles.<br/>Summary: The Crüe are on tour and one girl travels a long way to be there.</p><p>Dedicated to tumblr's crue-slut, with thanks for keeping me in Nikki pix and other stuff to feed my obsession!</p>
            </blockquote>





	You want it, you need it, the devil's gonna feed it

About two hours before the show, the flutters started. She was queuing, had been for a while, but now the excitement really kicked in and any traces of hunger, exhaustion or the pain in her feet and back were gone. There was a group from Dublin in front of her who had kind of adopted her, as she was all alone and just this once didn’t even know anyone else attending the show from the internet.  
The Irish had whiskey, which went a long way in helping with the cold. Also, they were in an incredibly good mood and weren’t bothered by any of the grouches in front or behind. Some people, really. Why go to a rock concert and buy pit tickets if you then stand in line complaining all the way?

About two hours before the show, he was waiting for the car to the venue. The sound check in the afternoon had gone rather well and he was actually well pleased with the venue as such. Backstage wasn’t too dingy and acoustics seemed fine. The pit was wide enough for the stage to be a decent size. Someone might start complaining about having to run around too much, but he’d just tune that shit out, as usual.  
He took another sip of coffee, as he went through the set list in his mind once more, going over the effects and where to be at what time for the umpteenth time. Now the only variable that remained was the crowd. If they could grab them by the balls, it would be a good show, possibly even a great one.

An hour to go and the doors open. She’s running, rushing headlong down the corridor and before she knows it, the solid metal of the barrier is pressing against her stomach. Front row. Nikki’s side. Just like she always wanted it to be. The Irish to the left and right of her, Declan grinning at her like a jackass.

“We made it, babe, we made it!” he laughs, “but the Jack didn’t!”

Of course not. No bottles in the venue. It’s her turn to give him a broad smile and then to introduce him to the wonders of vodka-in-a-bag, one shot of vodka in a tiny tetra pack. The Irish mightily approve of such mainland European strokes of genius.

An hour to go. They must have let the crowd in, there’s a hum of voices, a murmur of excitement in the background. He applies the war paint. Bold black streaks to the left and to the right in stark contrast with the nearly white makeup.  
He opens another bottle of water and drinks.

“You drink any more water, fucker, you’ll have to go piss every five minutes during the set! Hasn’t anyone told you anything about old farts and their prostates, dude?”

Tommy, of course. Dropping in for a brief pre-show powwow. Their usually semi-abusive banter serves both to get them revved up for the show and to keep any unsavory memories from the bad old days from surfacing. They’ve been doing this for so long, they can do it without really concentrating, which is a good thing, as they both tend to mull the next two hours over and over and over at this point.

The hall lights go out. There is an incredible, almost tangible surge of excitement going through the crowd and everybody’s yelling and whistling and clapping like crazy. She can hardly contain herself. This is just so beyond good. She can see shadowy figures move on stage.  
Lanky, moving fast to the back of the stage, Tommy. Stocky, heading for the middle of the stage, bouncing on the balls of his feet in front of the mike, Vince. Moving slowly to the right like a quiet ghost, Mick. And then, striding to the left, to her side of the stage, like an angry rooster, every step a challenge, Nikki.

He is filled with energy as he walks on stage. The crowd sounds awesome, like a huge beast that is clamoring for his attention. And boy, do they ever have it. He casts a quick glance at the others, catching Mick’s minuscule nod that signals they’re off. And then the fun begins.

As the stage lights come on, Nikki is standing right in front of her. Their eyes meet. The girl in the front row and the man on stage share one brief moment and to her it seems that time stops for a while.

Then the first guitar riff cuts through the thick air of the venue and Nikki Sixx grins wickedly at the crowd as Crüe proceed to let ‘er rip.


End file.
